


...But It Is The Law

by trash king murphamy (blackmaggiecat)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence after season two, M/M, Punishment, Season/Series 02 Spoilers, Shock Lashing, possible murphy/bellamy/clarke i don't know yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 12:21:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 8,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5707921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackmaggiecat/pseuds/trash%20king%20murphamy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Upon returning to Camp Jaha after his time in the lighthouse, Murphy hadn't exactly expected warm hugs and tearful reunions. Hell, he wasn't even fazed when he was arrested on sight and left in a holding cell for nearly a week.</p><p>What he hadn't expected at all, however, was to find himself handcuffed to a chair in the remains of the council room, listening to Chancellor Griffin and the newly-elected council decide his fate.</p><p>-</p><p>In which Murphy is punished, Bellamy is angry, and the 100 realize how little they want to be in Camp Jaha.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

All in all, Murphy wasn't totally surprised with how the whole thing turned out.

 

After all, he had abandoned the camp. He had, in the warped mindset of the Ark, committed treason. Even stripping that away, he was still a criminal.

 

So, upon returning to Camp Jaha after  his time in the lighthouse, he hadn't exactly expected warm hugs and tearful reunions. Hell, he wasn't even fazed when he was arrested on sight and left in a holding cell for nearly a week.

 

What he hadn't expected at all, however, was to find himself handcuffed to a chair in the remains of the council room, listening to Chancellor Griffin and the newly-elected council decide his fate.

 

"We can't just kick him out," the Chancellor, his surprising main defender, argued, "He's a healthy young man, we need them around here."

 

"We can't just let him stay! He's a felon!" Kane responded exasperatedly.

 

"He's a child!" Abby countered angrily.

 

"Yes, a child who's murdered two other children, who abandoned camp, stole supplies, stole weapons, not to mentioned his involvement with the Tondc massacre!"

 

Murphy flinched at that one, not that anybody noticed. Or if they did, they didn't care.

 

"Marcus-"

 

"We can't just have him come back and just be accepted back with open arms, Abby! We need some semblance of order, now more than ever!"

 

Murphy wanted to comment that public arrest and solitary confinement was hardly 'welcoming him back with open arms', but he was reckless, not stupid, so he held his tongue.

 

A council member Murphy didn't recognize, a small woman with blonde hair, piped up at Kane's comment. "Abby's right, Marcus. We need all the people we've got at the moment," Kane tried to protest, but the woman continued, "But Marcus is also right, we can't just let him back with no punishment. We need to show that you have to respect the rules."

 

Kane looked intrigued now. "So what do you propose?"

 

"We can punish him, like we did Chancellor Griffin," another council member suggested, "Make an example of him. Make sure everyone knows the rules are not to be disregarded, in a way that still allows us to keep a hold on a valuable commodity."

 

"Absolutely not!" Abby exclaimed angrily, "We can't publicly punish a child. We can't hold him to the standard you held me. That's cruel."

 

"It's not cruelty, it's following our laws. He commits crimes, he is punished, life goes on," Marcus remarked, turning back to the blonde woman, "What punishment do you suggest?"

 

The blonde woman sat up slightly. "Shock lashes, same as Chancellor Griffin. It's what the Exodus Charter demands."

 

Marcus nodded, but Abby looked furious. "No way in hell."

 

The blonde woman fixed her with a steely gaze. "That's not your call to make, Chancellor." The woman turned to the rest of the Council. "All in favor?"

 

Everyone but Abby raised their hands. "It is decided," Kane stated, "The boy will receive 50 shock lashes, ten for each of his crimes against our people. Any objections?"

 

"This is insane! It's inhumane!" Abby protested, but the rest of the council was silent. Murphy had been in the court of the council twice before, for himself and his father. He knew that at this point, there was nothing she could do. 

 

Murphy could feel the eyes of the whole council on him and Abby, but he tried to school his gaze. It was to no use though, he could feel his hands shaking against his will. 

 

He could almost hear the regret in Kane's voice as he commanded the guards to take Murphy away. He nearly collapsed when his arms were freed, and returned to his cell in the mass of guards.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! This is my first Murphamy ever, hope i'm not doing terrible so far :)


	2. Chapter 2

Murphy wasn't claustrophobic. He couldn't afford to be, considering he had spent most of his life trapped in a prison cell in a flying metal death trap. 

 

But when he was thrown back into the containment cell after his "sentencing", he began to understand where people could get that fear. The cell was small, barely large enough for him to slump against the wall as his breathing became increasingly ragged. This situation was too familiar, the cramped cell, waiting for pain. If he closed his eyes, the air almost smelled less like sanitary metal, more like rich earth and burning flesh...

 

No. No, he couldn't afford to think like that. Couldn't think about the screaming, the smell of the grounder woman's breath as she shouted, they feeling as they cut the soft tissue of his-

 

Murphy's hands, which hadn't stopped shaking since Kane had announced his fifty shock lashes, gripped at his knees, fingernails digging at is skin through the holes in his pants.

 

 _You're in camp,_ he chided himself silently. _This isn't the grounder camp. This is safer. They won't be as cruel to you._

 

_Will they?_

 

Murphy shook away his treacherous thoughts. No, he couldn't think like that. The Sky People weren't savages like the grounders. They were civilized. They weren't torturing him, they were punishing him. For felonies. They were being fair, in their own warped ideas of the word.

 

Still, he couldn't help the way his body trembled like a leaf in the wind. He remembered the feeling of the shock batons, occasionally having been prodded by them during his time as a prisoner. Even the light touch was painful. Fifty lashes...

 

He felt tears roll down his face, but he didn't move to wipe them away. Instead, he stared up at the ceiling. 

 

 _It'll be all right, Johnnie,_ his father's voice murmured in his head,  _Be brave, Johnnie._

 

He didn't feel brave. He felt scared, and claustrophobic, and very, very, alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this filler-y? Yes. Do I regret it? Absolutely not.
> 
> Don't worry, shit will go down next chapter. I swear.


	3. Chapter 3

Murphy woke to a familiar noise: metal screeching on metal. The cell door opening.

 

He wasn't really aware of at what point he had fallen sleep, or how much time had passed since his conviction. Over years of routinely being thrown into solitary when locked up on the Ark, some part of his brain had given him the ability to escape emotional trauma by sleeping for days at a time with no interruption. For all he knew, he could have slept for weeks, or it could have been only a few hours. He didn't know, and he didn't particularly care.

 

He squinted up to see a guard standing in the doorway, with Kane sanding just outside.

 

"It's time," Kane said, and if Murphy was more naive he would think there was some sort of sympathy in his tone, "Get up."

 

Murphy glared up at him blearily. "Eat me."

 

 

Kane's gaze hardened. "Get him up," he ordered the guard, who grabbed Murphy by both shoulders before yanking him to his feet. 

 

"What the hell, man?" Murphy questioned indignantly, instinctively trying to wrestle himself from the man's grip before he was shoved against the wall. He hit his head against the metal, temporarily disorienting him as the guard cuffed him.

 

"Sergeant!" Kane interjected sharply, "A little less force, please."

 

The guard grunted before pulling Murphy away from the wall with, thank god, only the amount of force needed to perform the task. Kane turned around, leading them down the hall. The guard grabbed Murphy's forearm, presumably to force him to follow, but not before he pulled Murphy close and murmured in his ear, "Connor was my son, you goddamn monster."

 

Murphy smirked ruefully as he was pulled into the hallway. Of course it was the father of a kid he'd killed. It was just his luck, right?

 

At the end of the hall, they were greeted by four more guards, who made the all-familiar square around him: two in front, two behind. He almost wanted to point out that it wasn't really necessary, that it wasn't like he was a huge threat to anyone else or like any of them would actually give a shit if he was attacked. But he wasn't stupid. This was routine. He kept his mouth shut.

 

Kane gave him one last look before opening the door. Murphy squinted slightly at the bright natural lighting (it looked like it was late afternoon at the very latest) before Connor's father gave him a sharp shove out of the door, and yanked him along to where people had gathered around a pair of tall, wooden poles.

 

The crowd parted at their approached, clearing a path for Kane, the manhandling guard, and the defense squad to lead Murphy up to the platform the poles where standing on. Now that they were closer, Murphy could see a chain of seat belts hanging from each pole, with a circular space for the wrist of whatever unfortunate soul was to be up there. Murphy almost wanted to laugh out loud. Of course this whole stupid event would involve seat belts. No better way to make this a better reflection of Murphy's shitty life than to add a good old fashioned memory of his most brutal "punishment" into the mix.

 

When he had ascended the steps to the platform, Kane finally turned back to look at him, waving away the four unnecessary guards and leaving Murphy alone with Connor's father. The man turned to him with cold eyes. "Take your shirt off."

 

Murphy blanched. He knew this was coming; shock lashes hardly work with a shirt on. Still, he knew what a scarred mess his torso had become, and wasn't keen on sharing it with the world. 

 

Connor's father showed no sympathy for Murphy's hesitance. "Shirt off, _now._ " he nearly growled, and Murphy slowly shrugged off his jacket before, with a deep sigh, peeling off his shirt.

 

He heard gasps from a few people in the crowd, and a choked noise coming from someone near the front. He looked over for a second and saw Chancellor Griffin with misty eyes. He felt a slight twinge of compassion, though he had no idea why the hell he felt anything for the woman who was about to order his brutal punishment. He schooled his features, and allowed the guard to lead him to poles. The man yanked up his wrists into the makeshift cuffs, and tightened them until they cut into his wrists. He grimaced, but knew better than to say anything. 

 

Chancellor Griffin mounted the platform, and Murphy could've sworn he saw her wipe her eyes a bit. 

 

"Jonathan Murphy," she gestured over at Murphy, "has been charged with abandoning camp, stealing supplies and weapons, involvement in the Tondc massacre, and the murder of two other youth who were sent down on the dropship. For his crimes, he has been sentenced to fifty shock lashes." Her voice caught as she announced his punishment, but she quickly composed herself.

 

"This isn't right!" he heard a female voice call from somewhere in the crowd. He looked up to see a group of delinquent huddled at the front of the crowd, staring up at Abby with something akin to disgust. He was taken aback by the fact that any of them would give a shit, considering he had been nothing other than an antagonist to their little adventure since day one. 

 

"Monroe's right!" Monty, the geeky little hacker that Murphy didn't totally despise spoke up. "You can't do this to him; it's cruel."

 

Murphy imagined he would have felt grateful if it weren't for the immense amount of fear that he was trying to suppress for the massive amounts of pain he was going to be in.

 

"The law is hard, but it is the law," the Chancellor explained, though she seemed unsure of the validity of her words, "This is what the Exodus Charter demands."

 

"Bullshit!" the girl who had originally spoken, Monroe, cried, "You just need to make an example."

 

"That's enough," the Chancellor spoke, before nodding towards Connor's father. Murphy heard the familiar electric whir of the shock baton extending. 

 

Murphy reached up to wrap his hands around the seat belt chain, and squeezed his eyes shut. 

 

_You've survived worse,_ he quietly chided himself,  _three days of Grounder torture should have nothing on this, right?_

 

"Begin," he heard Abby say in a empty voice. His entire body tensed as he waiting for the baton to reach down for the exposed skin of his back.

 

And then he was in pain.

 

All the muscles in his body tensed as they were hit with the electric shock brimming from the charged metal pressed to his back. He could hear the skin sizzle, and gritted his teeth to keep himself from crying out.

 

And then it was over. 

 

He slumped in the bonds, relief flooding his system. 

 

_That wasn't so bad,_ he thought _, I've survived worse. I can do this._

 

"Again," Abby ordered. Murphy looked up, and saw something akin to regret in her eyes. 

 

Then the baton came down on him again. If he had thought that the first one had in any way prepared him for the second, he was sorely mistaken. He bucked forward, every muscle in his body trying to escape the source of the pain. Again, he refused to cry out; he refused to give the guard, the Chancellor, and the rest of his enemies the satisfaction. 

 

The relief didn't taste as sweet this time.

 

"Again," Abby demanded, but her voice caught a bit.

 

The baton came down again, and once again Murphy was caught off guard by the pain. He bit on his lip to keep his cries in, and he could feel the blood pool beneath his teeth. His ankles gave way as the baton was removed, the pain too much o allow them to keep him up.

 

"Again."

 

Murphy refused to cry out. He couldn't. He wouldn't do it.

 

"Again."

 

He has survived worse. He had survived worse.

 

"Again."

 

He let out a sob when the baton moved away, relief flooding his system in almost equal measure to his pain.

 

"Again."

 

Murphy could feel the restraints cutting into his wrists as he bucked forward, but not even that could distract him to the agony of his punishment.

 

When the baton was moved away, he noticed the tears running down his cheeks. He looked up at Abby through glassy eyes, silently pleading for an end. He knew that the punishment had barely started, but he didn't know if he could take any more.

 

"Again," Abby demanded, not looking at him, though he could see tears in her eyes as well.

 

This time, as the baton came down, he couldn't help it. He threw back his head, and screamed. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. Hope it was worth it.
> 
> Bellamy will make an appearance in the next chapter, swears. I'm actually debating whether or not to make him the narrator.
> 
> Send me some love over on my tumblr (littlemissrageaholic). :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! Sorry it took so long to update! This chapter was hard to write for some reason, not the best chapter I have ever written. It's actually kinda shitty. I apologize in advance.

Bellamy was coming back from a hunting trip when he heard the screams.

 

Kane had sent Bellamy, Miller and Octavia out of camp an hour earlier, with not a lot of explanation or time to prepare before essentially kicking them out to look for "something that will feed as many people as possible".

 

They had gotten lucky, though. About half an hour out, they found a... well, a something. They figured it must be some mutation of a boar, but without the tusks. Whatever it was, it wasn't prepared at all for Octavia's stealth and Miller's excellent sharpshooting. The beast was down in five minutes flat.

 

They were trudging back to camp, with the boar-creature tied to a sturdy pole being carried between Miller and Bellamy with Octavia walking a bit ahead, when they heard the first scream.

 

It was long, and loud, and distinctly male. Bellamy looked quickly to Miller and Octavia, only to see the same fearfully curious look on their faces that Bellamy could feel creeping onto his own. A few seconds later, it was followed by another, louder, scream, and Bellamy could hear agony etched into every part of the sound. Without a second thought, he dropped their winnings and took off at a sprint toward camp, and somewhere in his mind he noted Miller doing the same, while Octavia cursed lightly and pulled out her blade as she swiftly made her way in front of him and began to run at the near-unnatural speed she had acquired. 

 

As he ran, every couple seconds another scream would come, and Bellamy would try to run faster, but his body could only do so much. With every footfall, all he could think about was the endless possibility of what could be happening: a grounder attack. A different station of Mountain Men. Hell, it could even be a giant, mutated panther. 

 

And then the screaming stopped.

 

Bellamy could see the gates to Arkadia not far ahead, but still refused slow his pace. He watched Octavia slip into the gate ahead of him. In some corner of his brain, he registered that it was odd that the gate was open, and that there appeared to be no guards surrounding it. If the warning lights hadn't already been going off, they sure as hell were now. He somehow found it in him to run a little faster and slip in a few seconds after his sister.

 

He almost ran directly into her when he entered. She had skidded to a halt in the entryway, staring at a huge crowd that had formed in the open field space inside of the gates. Bellamy could feel his face mirroring her own once again as he examined the crowd. Around the back edges, he saw looks of some sort of fear, and... disgust? There was a girl puking. He saw several tear-stained faces.

 

Octavia looked back at him, and he nodded curtly at her, pulling out his gun. Before they could do anything, however, he was knocked, face-first into the dirt as Miller ran into his back, his flailing arms taking Octavia down with him. The domino effect would have almost been comical if it weren't for the circumstances.

 

Thankfully, the messiness of their entrance distracted the crowd from whatever spectacle they had been witnessing. Bellamy and Octavia struggled their way out form under Miller, taking off at top speed into the crowd of people with the other boy following as soon as he was back on his feet. Bellamy tried to ignore the people he was pushing out of the way, the looks on their faces...

 

As the trio pushed through the last of the crowd, Bellamy finally looked up, and was confronted with a sight that almost made his blood run cold: a platform. A boy, shirtless, hair falling in his face, a look of pure agony on his face, shoulders shaking in sobs. Behind him stood a guard, shock baton in hand, and Bellamy barely suppressed a shudder at the blood coating the shiny metal.

 

He looked back over to the boy, and did a double-take. The face may have been hard to identify if he hadn't seen the boy's face contorted like this before, seen his shoulder's shaking like this before...

 

Murphy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is terrible but the plot has been moved along. Go me.
> 
> I'm sorry this is so brief and crappy. I'll try to add another, less-crappy chapter in the next few days.


	5. Chapter 5

"What the _fuck?"_  Bellamy bellowed, too in shock of the scene before him to make a move quite yet. 

 

"Bellamy, Octavia, thank god," he heard a voice, and turned to see a small group of delinquents huddled at the front of the crowd. Harper nearly tripped in her haste to get over to Bellamy.

 

"Bellamy, y-you have to do something!" he heard Monroe exclaim from where she was curled against Monty, his voice wobbling a little, before she looked to someone over Bellamy's shoulder, "Please, Chancellor, he's had enough!"

 

Bellamy whirled around to see Abby, tears staining her own face, wearing an unreadable expression.

 

Then, pulling herself out of whatever peaceful daze she, along with everyone else, had been in since the arrival of the Blakes and Miller, she turned forward and nodded at the guard. "Again."

 

Bellamy turned back forward just in time to see the guard lift up the baton and bring it to rest on Murphy's back.

 

Murphy made a strangled sound, arching forward. It was now that Bellamy noticed the blood dripping from where his wrists were suspended from two seat belt chains, the flesh raw and mangled. Murphy's eyes were squeezed shut, but Bellamy saw the tears streaming out of them.

 

Octavia reacted before Bellamy did, leaping up onto the platform and knocking the guard's arm away from Murphy before Bellamy could even think to move. Murphy sagged forward, and Bellamy noticed the way his ankles rolled, having undergone too much trauma to support his weight. Murphy let out a pathetic little whimper, and the breath he took in looked shaky and unsure, before it was let out in a sob. 

 

Bellamy could feel righteous anger pulsing through his veins. He surged forward after Octavia, putting the gun in the waistband of his jeans before he grabbed the guard by the front of his jacket and slammed him against one of the posts that Murphy was attached to. He tried not to noticed how the boy flinched away from the movement, and instead focused in his rage.

 

"What the hell is the meaning of this?" he inquired angrily, glaring at the guard with an intensity that only he was capable of.

 

The guard jutted his chin out a bit, clearly oblivious to the amount of pain Bellamy was ready to cause him. "We're punishing a criminal," he responded in a reproachful tone, before casting his gaze to Murphy, "If you ask me, we were going easy. The boy deserves to die." And with that, he spit in Murphy's direction. Bellamy didn't miss the way Murphy flinched away, whimpering pathetically again.

 

Bellamy Blake had seen a lot of things. But John Murphy being reduced to a quivering, whimpering mess was one he never wished he would. 

 

If Bellamy had been angry before, now he was furious. He pulled an arm back and punched the guard square in the jaw. The man spluttered a bit, clearly surprised Bellamy was capable of such a thing.

 

But Bellamy wasn't finished. He pulled his arm back again, and again, hitting until the guard was dead weight in his arms and he could feel a stronger pair of arms wrapping around him and pulling him away. 

 

"Easy, son," he heard Marcus Kane's voice in his ear, and he tensed up a bit. Kane took this as a sign that he was done fighting and let him go. Bellamy whirled on him, hoping his glower was enough to show the true force of his rage.

 

"For the love of god, please tell me you're not in on this!" he bellowed at Kane, gesturing vaguely at Murphy, at the bruised and bloodied guard, and at the delinquents, still cowering at the front of the crowd.

 

Kane's face hardened. "This is the law at work, Mr. Blake," he replied simply, "Mr. Murphy has to pay for his crimes against our people."

 

"Like hell he does!" Bellamy roared, "What the hell could he have done to deserve this?"

 

Monty, surprisingly, spoke out at this one, "Nothing he hasn't paid for already!"

 

Kane ignored him. "Jonathan Murphy has been charged with abandoning camp, stealing supplies and weapons, the murder of two other youth on the dropship, and his involvement in the Tondc-"

 

"You're shitting me, right?" Octavia cut Kane off, speaking for the first time since her arrival at Arkadia, "Tell me you aren't punishing him for Tondc." She whirled on Abby, the momentarily-forgotten ringleader of the entire debacle. "Tell me you're not charging him with that."

 

Abby remained silent, but looked momentarily at the ground. 

 

That was all the confirmation the Blakes needed.

 

Bellamy wishes he could commit to perfect memory Abby's expression as Octavia leaped off of the platform and backhanded Abby across her face.

 

"Tondc is not yours to punish him for! That was grounder blood, and they got their penance!" She roared, seething, "Murphy's blood was not demanded because he tried to stop it! Their blood was not on his hands!"

 

"But the abandonment, and the dropship-"

 

Bellamy spoke up now, following his sister off of the platform to stand in front of Abby. "Murphy was seeking revenge for an act committed on the ground, before you all landed. Those times do not fall under your jurisdiction." He turned to Octavia. "Let him down. He's had enough."

 

"That's not up to you to decide," Kane protested, but the pair ignored him, climbing over to where Murphy was still suspended by his wrists. Octavia used her blade to cut him free, and he immediately fell forward to where Bellamy was waiting to catch him. 

 

"Like hell it isn't!" Bellamy retorted,  though much quieter than his previous exclamations as not to startle Murphy and scare him further. He was distinctly aware of the slighter boy shaking in his arms, though whether it was from fear or from the sobs still wracking his body, Bellamy wasn't sure. He tried to pull Murphy closer to him to provide a source of comfort and protection. Murphy flinched, and Bellamy tried not to be offended. Instead, he leaned his head down to Murphy's ear, and asked "Can you walk?"

 

Murphy only sobbed in response. Bellamy tried to place the shaking boy on hi feet, but he immediately cried out in pain and Bellamy wrapped him in his arms as he pitched forward once again.

 

Murphy glanced up at Bellamy fearfully, and Bellamy could see, among other things, embarrassment brewing in his eyes. Bellamy had always known Murphy to be notoriously independent, and he couldn't imagine the feeling of someone like him not even being able to stand on his own.

 

The humiliations, along with the pain and the fear, must have been too much for Murphy's poor brain and body to handle, as he swiftly went limp in Bellamy's arms, passed out. Bellamy put one arm under his knees to lift the boy bridal-style, before turning to face the chancellor. 

 

"He needs medical attention," he stated firmly, and didn't even pause to register her response before stepping off of the platform and towards the Ark. The crowd parted in front of him.

 

"Wait, Mr. Blake-" he could hear Kane protesting, but he was cut off by Harper's voice.

 

"Leave it, Kane. You've done enough damage already," she said, and the delinquents followed Bellamy,  _their_ leader, towards the Ark to tend to Murphy who, malicious as he may be, was still one of their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not all too happy with this chapter either, but it completed it's intended purpose.
> 
> as always, love is much appreciated on my
> 
> [tumblr](littlemissrageaholic.tumblr.com)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit this was hard to write for some reason

The first time Murphy regained consciousness, as he could register was pain. 

 

His eyes shot open, and he was confronted by a blurry, grey surface. He tried to push himself up, but the movement made his back scream in protest, and spots danced in front of his already-inhibited vision and he was so out of touch, so unable to focus that he couldn't tell if the screams in his head even reached his mouth. 

 

He didn't know when his vision blacked out.

 

* * *

 

The second time Murphy woke up, he could feel someone touching him.

 

To most people, this wouldn't be much cause for alarm. But Murphy, of all people, knew how quickly a harmless touch or a quiet caress could turn into a punch, a slap, a seat belt noose...

 

So he was already on edge when the pain set in. 

 

All of his senses were pulled into focus, his eyes shooting open. Everything was still sort of off-kilter, and he saw double reflections of the light as it reflected off the floor. He was lying face-down, with the hands on his back and arms, the epicenter of his pain. He thrashed in an attempt to get the hand off, pulling his arms under him so he could push up, but arched in pain as his back and wrists protested at the movement.

 

His breathing became increasingly ragged, but he gritted his teeth and pretended he didn't feel tears coming as he tried to roll onto his back, but he only succeeded in pressing together skin (was there even any skin there?) that he didn't want touching. His vision escaped him for a moment, and he fell back onto his stomach. He could feel himself begin to sob, but he couldn't focus on it, couldn't focus on anything but his wrist and his back and the feeling of the hands finally moving away...

 

A face hovered in front of him, his eyes, blurred by tears and were unable to comprehend who it could be. He caught dark hair and dark eyes, and some part of his brain knew what that meant but he couldn't quite access it. He could tell the figure was talking to him, but he couldn't hear it over the pounding of the blood in his ears.

 

The next he could tell, the figure was reaching out to touch him, and he flinched instinctively, the hands were withdrawn. The figure looked up at something over Murphy's head, and he felt hands reach up to touch his back. 

 

Murphy cracked. He began to thrash again, his brain somehow pushing his agony out of his mind in the attempt to get the hands off of him. His blood pumped harder in his ears, but he could hear a male voice shouting "Stop touching him!" while a female one called out a larger declaration that he didn't catch all of, but he understood "sedative", "retrain", and "violent". 

 

His doubled, blurry vision allowed him to see bright lights, and people crowded in a corner, and then there was a woman and a syringe and everything was gone again.

 

* * *

 

 

When Murphy finally woke up, for real, he didn't really feel much of anything. 

 

He was lying on his back this time. There was a... well, a something on his arm. He had a very minimal idea where he was, or how he had gotten there. He wasn't sure if that made him feel uneasy or safe. He decided on uneasy, and slowly opened his eyes.

 

The room was brightly lit, and he had to blink a couple of times to adjust. His eyelids felt like they were made of lead, and he had a very strong urge to just let them close them and go back to sleep, but it was quickly eclipsed by the need to know where he was.

 

He reached up to rub his eyes to remove any leftover bleariness, only to discover that he couldn't actually move his arms. He looked down only to find that his wrists were covered in a thick layer of gauze, and on top of that were handcuffs.

 

The handcuffs were no big surprise; by now Murphy was very used to being chained up somewhere or another. But the gauze... that was new. His brain quickly put two and two together to figure that the gauze and bright light probably meant he was in the medical wing of the Ark. The question that still befuddling him was exactly what he was doing there. 

 

Sometimes, Murphy's brain liked to shelter him. It could mean letting him sleep for days, or letting his fight or flight instinct overpower his pain, or pushing things that would hurt him into the back of his mind until he was ready to think about them.

 

So, up until that point, Murphy's brain had lulled him into a mental anesthesia where he completely forgot what had happened. But looking at his wrist, the memories came flooding back.

 

He remembered his sentencing. He remembered Connor's father. He remembered the first ten or so lashes. After that, he remembered bits and pieces. He remembered himself crying and screaming and not being able to stand properly. 

 

He squeezed his eyes shut against the memories, as if that would make them go away.

 

He doesn't remember when he fell back asleep. He chooses not to remember a lot of things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more filler shit because i'm really struggling writing these next couple of chapters. expect a new one soon-ish, though.
> 
> i'm really loving the love i'm getting by way of comments. your support makes my little heart sing :)


	7. Chapter 7

In the day and a half that Murphy had been in the infirmary, Bellamy had barely budged. 

 

He, along with the other delinquents, had been kicked out of Murphy's room after the episode during treatment. The younger boy had woken in hysterics, screaming and thrashing and trying desperately to avoid being touched. Abby had panicked, shouting for sedatives and restraints, while Bellamy watched in horror as the younger boy had tried to get up, sobbing, only to fall back. Bellamy had rushed over to the boy, caught his eye for a second, and Murphy had seemed a bit calmer until Abby had put hands on him again. 

 

Murphy had flipped out and, in turn, so had Bellamy. He had shouted for everyone to get off of the younger boy, and was forcibly dragged out of the room, but not before he saw Abby inject Murphy with some kind of drug that knocked him out. 

 

No one had been allowed inside since. But none of them had left. They had taken post outside of the metal doors, leaning against the wall and sprawled on the floor, awaiting news.

 

Most of them had fallen asleep, and Bellamy himself had just been dozing off when Jackson, Abby's ever-present second-in-command, emerged from the medical wing. He looked briefly across the sleepy faces of the delinquents before catching Bellamy's eye and gesturing for him to follow him back through the doors.

 

Bellamy didn't hesitate to practically leap to his feet, earning himself a annoyed noise from Octavia, who had dozed off against his shoulder. He took a quick system to blink away his sleepiness and vertigo before crossing over to the doors in three quick strides. 

 

Once inside, his first thought was how much more sterile it smelled. The last time he was in here, it had stunk of blood and burned flesh, but now it smelled like a hospital once again.

 

He quickly shook away the thought, turning his full attention to where Jackson and Abby were standing over Murphy's sleeping form. Bellamy took a quick mental assessment of the boy: They had dressed him in clean clothes, which was a foreign sight to Bellamy. He was lying on his back now, so even without the shirt, Bellamy wouldn't have been able to see any of the wounds or bandaging there. He could, however, see the thick bandaging around both of his wrists, partially hidden where he was handcuffed to the table. He had an IV in one of his hands, and another in his opposite arm.

 

Bellamy couldn't help but think how fragile he looked. He didn't look like the same person who had killed Connor and Myles, or like the bloody, desperate boy who he had kicked the box from under. He looked younger, and peaceful, like someone Bellamy needed to protect.

 

He forced himself to look away, to look back up at Abby and Jackson, who were staring at him with a strange mix of emotions in their eyes. He saw sympathy, though he doubted that was directed towards him. In Abby's eyes, he saw something that looked like respect; in Jackson's eyes, the emotion looked more like disgust.

 

Abby cleared her throat, and Bellamy stood up a bit straighter, giving her all of his focus.

 

"Mr. Murphy is in stable condition," he said in a tone bursting with repressed emotion, "We haven't detected any severe nerve damage in his back or wrists."

 

"Has he woken up?" Bellamy inquired before Abby could continue.

 

She shook her head. "We have a light sedative still coming through the IV in his arm, but we are unaware if he has woken of his own accord yet."

 

Bellamy nodded curtly. "Can the others come in and see him?"

 

Abby exchanged a look with Jackson before shaking her head. "We think it's probably best if minimal people are in the room when he regains consciousness."

 

Abby did have a point. Based on how badly Murphy had freaked out when he was only being touched by two people, being surrounded by them would probably be a nightmare. 

 

He looked down at Murphy again, and something in his chest hurt looking at him. He remembered so clearly the look of deranged fear and agony etched onto the boy's face when he had woken up during the procedure. The pure terror he had seen in the boy's eyes... he wouldn't wish that in anyone.

 

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see Abby regarding him with sad eyes. "I'll leave you two alone for a moment," she said in a low voice, before exiting, gesturing for Jackson to follow her.

 

Jackson started to follow her out of the door, before seeming to think better of it for a second and walking over to Bellamy.

 

"We did a full-body examination for our records," he told Bellamy, contempt lacing his tone, "Even without the burns, over 80% of his torso is covered in scar tissue, not to mention his legs and arms." He shook his head reproachfully, scoffing. "You might have fooled Abby and Kane, but I see you all for what you are, a bunch of hypocrites. You get angry for what we did to him, but fail to mention what you let happen to him long before we got here." 

 

And with that, Jackson turned and followed Abby into the hall.

 

Bellamy didn't dare to move, shock at Jackson's words keeping him frozen in place. He wanted to be angry, but all he could think was that Jackson was right.

 

He remembered when Murphy came back to the dropship the first time, covered in blood and carrying a hemorrhagic fever. He remembered how cruel he had been, how clear it was that the boy was in pain and afraid and how he had treated him like dirt. 

 

He remember the hanging, the sound of Murphy's voice around the gag, pleading with him not to do this. He remembered the feeling of the box under his feet as he kicked it away from Murphy's dangling ones. He remembered the sickening sound that Murphy made as his air supply was cut off. He remembers refusing to let him down.

 

Where had his protective spirit been in those times?

 

Slowly, he walked over to where Murphy lay, sitting down on an upturned crate that sat by the head. He looked over at the younger boy, and couldn't help but marvel once again at how different he looked when he was like this, asleep and clean. He looked so much more like the boy Bellamy had landed with, so much less like a tortured criminal. 

 

_We did this to him_ , Bellamy realized. This scared boy, bearing more pain than most people would ever know on his shoulders, only existed because everyone had been cruel, had pushed him away, had placed all the blame for everything on him.

 

This was their fault. And it was up to them to fix it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter took so long! i rewrote it a thousand times before i came up with something i was happy with. hope it came out well.
> 
> (p.s. hi chloe)


	8. Chapter 8

Murphy woke up slowly. His whole body felt like it was tingling a bit, like he had been simultaneously been laying on all of his limbs for too long. Come to think of it, he probably had. He had a sneaking feeling one of the IVs he could still feel poking into his skin held some kind of anesthetic, so he had no real way of knowing how long he'd been out.

 

He briefly considered going back to sleep, but decided against it. As much as he liked the idea of peaceful unconsciousness, he was also a bit on edge about his unknown surroundings and circumstance. He had found, over time, that the more he knew about any situation the better, and the fact that he knew close to nothing about his current predicament was unnerving. 

 

He tried to open his eyes, but it was harder than he anticipated. His eyelids felt as if they had boulders weighing them down (yep, he had definitely been on some anesthetics). He decide to start out slower. He tapped a couple of his fingers, just to make sure that he wasn't on a paralytic drug and he could move. When he was successful, he tried again to open his eyes. They still felt heavy, but less so. He could actually open them.

 

The first thing his eyes registered were harsh, fluorescent lights. He squinted against them, blinking a few times before he could look around himself. 

 

It was then that Murphy became aware of something more alarming than the lights: other people. 

 

The last time he had woken (he had no idea how long ago that was), he had been alone, handcuffed to his hospital bed. But while the latter of the statements was still true, he could count three other people in various states of consciousness in the cramped space with him.

 

Murphy could feel himself slowly curling into himself as he surveyed the "newcomers": against the wall, facing him, was the Chancellor, now in her doctor's uniform, fast asleep, with her head on the shoulders of that other doctor who always seemed to be following her around like some sort of lost puppy (Carson, Murphy thought his name was.) Leaning against the door, looking bored, was a tall, muscular woman Murphy didn't recognize, but her jacket indicated that she was a guard.

 

 _Typical,_ he thought,  _even when passed out, they still think i'm enough of a threat to waste a guard on._

 

The guard evidently noticed his (slight) movements, glancing over his way. She assessed him lazily, before clearing her throat loudly. The sound prompted Carson (maybe it was Jack?) to spring to life, and his sudden moment also woke the Chancellor, like some bizarre chain reaction. Abby looked around the room, surveying the room for danger, before her eyes landed on Murphy.

 

Murphy didn't see malice or cruelty in her eyes, but something about her gaze still made him want to run and hide. His memory of... well, however long ago it was that he was strapped to poles and shocked into hysterics was still slightly hazy after the first couple lashes, but he remembers very clearly watching Abby's eyes through his own tear-filled ones, and watching her command his pain over... and over... and over...

 

"Mr. Murphy, you're awake!" the other doctor proclaimed, as if that wasn't obvious. The both of them hopped to their feet, Abby crossing the room and reaching over toward Murphy.

 

He flinched violently, momentarily forgetting that his hands were cuffed. Despite his assumed anesthetics, he still felt a sharp pain run through both of them, causing him to wince.

 

Abby stopped dead in her tracks, and surprise flashed in her eyes. Her mouth fell open, and Murphy swore that if he had given her a few more seconds there would be tears in her eyes. He felt bad, somewhere deep down. But then he thought of her staring, impassive, at his limp, bloody form as he pleaded for mercy, and all traces of sympathy left him.

 

The other doctor placed a hand on Abby's arm and murmured something into her ear. Abby worried her bottom lip between her teeth, but she nodded curtly and turned to leave. Murphy looked down at his lap, only looking up once he heard the door close behind her, and discovered that she had taken the guard with her, leaving him with the other doctor, who was close enough that Murphy could see the tag on his jacket identifying him as Jackson.

 

Jackson stared at him, calculating, before taking a hesitant step forward. Murphy hated the fact that the man was treating him like glass, hated the fact that he allowed himself to seem weak enough to prompt such treatment. He scoffed a bit, trying not to glare at the doctor. "You can come closer, you know. I don't bite."

 

Jackson nodded, taking quicker steps to his bedside. He reached over to pull the IV from his arm, putting a plastic stopper on the end of the needle part and then dropping it.

 

"Fluids," he explained, "We had you out for a couple of days, so we had to keep you hydrated somehow. You won't need it now that you're awake."

 

Murphy nodded curtly. "And the other one?"

 

"Analgesics," answered Jackson. Murphy's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and Jackson elaborated, "Painkillers, basically. Like anesthetics, without the unconsciousness." He looked down at his watch, before adding "I'm actually surprised you stayed out as long as you did. We switched out the actual anesthetics for those a couple days ago."

 

Murphy nodded mindlessly, well aware of his body's sleep-through-trauma mechanism, as he watched Jackson pull a key ring from his pocket, searching until he fund the smallest one. He paused, looking from the key, to Murphy, and back.

 

"Look, I'm not really supposed to uncuff you, because you're still technically a prisoner, but I have a feeling that the cuffs aren't really doing a lot other than agitating your wrists, so..." Jackson reached down to unlock them, "Just... don't punch anyone? I don't want to put them back on, it's counterproductive."

 

Murphy nodded as Jackson freed his wrists. He flexed them instinctively, then winced as the mangled flesh rubbed against itself. Jackson grimaced, still awkwardly hovering. 

 

"So, how long was I out?" he asked, trying to appear nonchalant. 

 

Jackson was on the verge of responding when the door flew open, and in stepped none other than Bellamy Blake. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> number of times i rewrote this chapter over a three week period: over one hundred.
> 
> i apologize sooooo much for taking so long to update, as well as for the shittiness of this chapter. it gave me one of the most severe cases of writer's block i have yet to encounter.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i switched p.o.v. after the first thingy i'm really sorry

Of course Bellamy was on guard duty when Murphy woke up.

 

He had spent nearly a week by the boy's bedside, never leaving except to relieve himself and when Abby or Jackson kicked him out to change Murphy's bandages ("to give him some semblance of privacy", though Bellamy suspected it had something to do with the fact that Jackson seemed to trust him with Murphy as far as he could throw him.) He had slept with the crate leaning against the far wall; he had eaten using his knees as a table. Octavia had even brought him a worm copy of _The Iliad_ to keep him occupied.

 

He wasn't entirely sure where his newfound protectiveness over the younger boy had come from, besides the deeply ingrained loyalty that he felt towards every member of the original hundred. He supposed it might have something to do with how helpless he looked, or maybe leftover guilt at how completely he had fucked Murphy over. He wasn't sure, and didn't really care. He just knew he had to watch over Murphy.

 

But on his fifth day spent hovering over the boy, Kane had come in and, in his most above-it-all leader-voice, informed Bellamy that he needed to return to guard detail. Bellamy had merely scoffed at the order, but Kane mentioned that if he failed to comply, then "whatever obstacle that seems to be keeping you from your work would need to be taken out of play". Bellamy was appalled, but decided to come back to work for Murphy's sake. After all, they had taken his off sedatives a couple of  _days_ before and he was still unconscious, so the chances of his waking in the four-hour shift while Bellamy was gone were slim.

 

Of course that would be how it happened. 

 

* * *

 

If it had been anyone but Murphy, maybe the consequences of Bellamy's dramatic entrance wouldn't have been quite so drastic. But it was Murphy, and Bellamy really should have know better than to burst in suddenly, loudly, and violently.

 

He flinched, jumping back a bit, forgetting that he was on a hospital bed that couldn't have been much more than two and a half feet wide. He had already been perched by the edge of the bed in order to give him a better view when talking to Jackson, and the jolt sent him tumbling to the ground, landing with a  _thud_  on his- oh, shit.

 

Murphy's eyes widened as he hit his back, pain exploding across every square inch of-well, there wasn't exactly skin there. He gasped loudly, his eyes tearing up, and, almost as if fate had decided to make his fall as dramatic as possible, one of his IV poles promptly fell on top of him, having been taken down by the force of his fall, while the other seemed to be disconnected completely. 

 

 

Both Bellamy and Jackson rushed forward, more than likely to see if he was okay, but their intention was lost in Murphy's pain-and-PTSD-fueled mind. All it registered was the rush of movement toward him and he instinctively tried to scramble away, but his mangled wrist gave out, leaving him to fall to the floor, instead using his arms to shield his face.

 

After a few moments, he realized that no one was actually trying to hurt him, and he slowly moved his arms from his face to reveal the matching horrified expressions on those of Bellamy and Jackson. The sight almost made him want to cover his eyes again.

 

He took a few shaky breathes, his shoulders moving up and down dramatically before he let out a sharp laugh.

 

"Well," the boy commented, smirking, "this isn't humiliating at all."

 

Jackson broke out into what could have been a smile if it didn't look so pained. If Murphy had thought the tension in the air had been thick before, he had just been exposed to a whole new world of it.

 

Fortunately, he had more important concerns than the tension in the air. "So, is anyone going to help me up or am I going to have to figure out the extent of the injuries myself?"

 

Jackson cursed slightly before looking to Bellamy. "Could you...?"

 

Bellamy nodded, his face solemn. He reached over to Murphy (slowly, carefully) and put his hands under Murphy's armpits, pulling him gently to his feet, and then practically picking him up and carrying him back onto the bed while Jackson set Murphy's IV poles back where they were supposed to be.

 

Once he was situated, Murphy took the first good look at him since he had arrived. The older boy looked tired, and flustered, but there was something burning in his eyes that Murphy couldn't quite identify.

 

Looking at Bellamy made something stir in the back of his brain. He scrunched up his face in concentration, glancing down at his lap. When he looked back up, he caught Bellamy's eye, and everything popped back into place.

 

"You were there."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is shitty and short and filler-y and my update time is abysmal. i'm sorry. i promise i'll post an update in the next few days to make up for it.


	10. for your decision

hello my loves, it's ruthie.

it's come to my attention that i have pretty much abandoned this fic. actually, not "pretty much". its been abandoned. at some point, i procrastinated the next chapter, and never came back to it. yikes.

however, i think this was a thing that ppl liked, and i vaguely remember what i wanted to do with it. so here we are left with a few options:

1\. i can continue this fic as if i didn't just stop updating a year ago. i might touch-up a few chapters, but i'd just keep rolling along and ignoring post-s2 canon.

2\. i can start over completely, retouching and rewriting all the chapters to fit a little bit of a different narrative that may proceed better with the new image i'd continue with it and fix the parts i'm embarrassed about.

3\. i can pass this fic off to whomever might want to write the ending

4\. i can abandon it. leave as is

as of rn, idk what to do with it really. i won't continue if there's no motive, but i think i could get into it again and i still get comments encouraging me to keep going so???

idk. hmu with that dank feedback so i know what to do with this.

-mama ruthie


	11. ayyyyyy it me again

hey homies, this isn't an update chapter (sorry) but ya girl is just here to say that hey wow ppl actually replied and said i should continue this fic so by democratic election, imma put up an update (hopefully) within the next few weeks and shit.

love y'all.

-ruthie

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is my first Murphamy EVER, so I hope it isn't to shitty so far :)


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